Gertsamtkunstwerk

Dictionary

In searching through my dictionary, I get almost seconds of amusement from reading the page headers.

In this week's thrilling episode, we have:

• needle neighbourhead - surely situated close to Crack Alley
• soul-destroying souse - well it would be, wouldn't it...?
• soutane spacesuit - not really advisable for the office
• touchy-feely town-clerk - grrr... more modish modernisation of public services

Vultures gather

A posse of cameramen is forming outside the office. No doubt awaiting the arrival/departure of the Secretary of State. Presumably on the assumption that he will leap out of the car and issue a full extempore statement on his current local difficulty.

Meanwhile, it's band practice at the Barracks. In a novel change from military band playing light classics and pop tunes, it's rock band with a nice medley of 50s/60s Rock 'n' Roll. If this is future for the Army, then I think it's a sad indictment of a relentless modernisation (dread word) of our public services. I blame Tony Blair.

In my indefatigable search for diplomatic number plates, I espied a car bearing the plate 1 M. Diplomatic ones are normally three letters. So, was this diplomatic, and, if so, which nation has the temerity to use just one letter?

Unintentional hiatus

The last few days have been fairly hectic. I spent two days away in Winchester for a staff conference. Exciting stuff - not. Lessons learned:

1. The Freedom of Information Act will remove marginalia from Official Documents. Marginalia is where the wry comments and searing insights sit
2. Auditing is about people, not data
3. 90% of communication is non-verbal

Mother arrived on Friday, not without drama, of course and stayed until this morning. Is matricide legal? It's just that, seeing as she neither likes nor respects me, I'm not sure that I have an obligation to like or respect her. And she talks non-stop. It's not even conversation. It's an unrelenting cascade of verbal diarrhoea, including interrupting and talking over me.

On Friday night the three of us went to La Rondine at Covent Garden. And I survived. Last night Jimmy and I went to kd lang at Hammersmith Apollo. I'm out again tonight but reviews will follow in due course.

Look who's in the Guardian!

We love each other

The print edition contains a really nice photo. Mother has not yet spotted it.

Semele again

Gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous...!

Musick by Mr Handel, libretto after Mr Congreve. I don't hink I've ever seen any plays by Congreve, but I thought I had. I had a brief 'thing' about Restoration Drama a dozen or more years ago, but got distracted, possibly by Accountancy studies. Sigh

Oh, and Congreve took it from Ovid's Metamorphoses, which are a hoot, especially in the original (trust me on this one...)

I am struggling to work out what was the best bit of a thoroughly enjoyable night. The music? The libretto/drama? The production? The set and costumes? The wonderful acting from the entire cast? The singing?

It was all good. Four more performances remain.

The music's Handel. The great thing about Handel, I reckon, is that if you like one piece of Handel, you're likely to like the rest. Not that they all sound alike, but Handel's Handel. A businessman.

The libretto is satirical, about the mistress of the King. In this case the King happens to be Jupiter, but as the programme notes pointed out, Kings have always had mistresses. It would have been tempting to draw ultra-modern parallels, but it was set in the 1950s. Incidentally, Juno - Jupiter's wife, goddess of marriage - was done up to look exactly like QE2. The synopsis seems complicated, but isn't - Semele, a mortal, walks out on her earthly marriage to be Jupiter's mistress. She begs him to appear to her as a god, rather than in mortal disguise, and that proves her destruction - the moral, of course being, be satisfied at being the mistress, don't aspire to being the wife (don't get ideas above your station...).

I think all the singers acted it well - special mention should go to Patricia Bardon as Juno/the Queen, and a very special mention to Janis Kelly as Iris. I had no complaints about the rest, either.

It is sometimes described as an oratorio, or a staged oratorio, but to me, a staged oratorio is an opera. It just seemed to work really coherently - no 'egh, what's that supposed to signify?' Some great little touches of sheer comedy. The sets were simple but effective - the weeding scene just chairs arranged either side of a red carpet. Much of the action taking place in Semele and Jupiter's bedroom, with just a bed, and lots of clothes strewn around. The choreographing of the chorus was excellent, and, again, it just seemed to work. The second act ended as darkness fell around the heavenly bedroom and it was really rather nice seeing the stars twinkling against a black background.

The clothes were really lovely - fifties style, the ladies mainly in satin, the men mainly in dinner suits, except for Jupiter, who was mainly in a cream lounge suit and brogues. I would think the costumes outstanding if I hadn't seen La Rondine last week.

And the singing! Perhaps the overall most satisfying singing I have heard at ENO all year. Not a weak link, at all. The minor parts did what they had to do at least competently, if not better. Personal dislike for me is the counter-tenor voice. I just don't like it. But I am sure that fans of counter tenors would have found Robin Blaze delightful. I wasn't frightfully keen on Anne-Marie Gibbons as Ino. Patricia Bardon sounded luscious as Juno, a rich contralto (or mezzo, I'm not quite sure). Ian Bostridge was a bit of a let down. He acted well, and clearly had a large fan club present. But at times, I thought his voice lacked colour, and was a bit generic.

But the total star was Carolyn Sampson. She was the reason I booked to see this, and she exceeded my expectations. To me, she has a a completely gorgeous voice. I have heard her sing Monteverdi, Beethoven, and Mozart in concert, and Handel on disc, but this was the first time I have seen her in an opera. As well as having a beautiful voice, she acts really well, and looks just great. The most memorable arias are Endless Pleasure, Endless Love at the end of Act 1 - very slinkily sexy without vamping it up; O Sleep Why Dost Thou Leave Me? in Act 2 and Myself I Shall Adore in Act 3. But lots of more good stuff. I'm so tempted to rush out and buy a CD, but I so hope that maybe Chandos could do a recording starring Carolyn. I think I'm a bit of a fan!

There was a pause - not an interval - between Acts 1 and 2, and a rathe rhigh numbe rof latecomers were admitted, resulting in much shuffling, and a general hum of conversation. The orchestra began and the woman next-but-one said, audibly, "There doesn't seem to be any spare seats" so, irritated, I did a loud sharp shush and the netire centre of the Upper Circle shushed instantly. Go me!

At the interval, I went down to the main doors, glass in hand, and I was told 'no glasses outside'. I grumbled 'It's a different rule every week, it makes life so exciting' and smiled at the door staff. One of them pointed out they had some plastic glasses, so I grinned happily and said "You are truly wonderful people!" When I had finished my cigarette she waved me in without checking my ticket!

Semele

Reviews in the Times and Guardian

gorgeous to look at and listen to, it is also rather shallow, a romp rather than a morality tale...Carolyn Sampson sings Semele with beguiling facility, style and beauty, adding her own roulades to Handel’s already extreme demands, pinpointing every note of the coloratura and doing it all with liquefying sexiness...This is a great performance... Ian Bostridge’s Jupiter gradually unbends to deliver the sweetest soft legato, Patricia Bardon’s Juno is hilariously fiery as the (literally) queenly betrayed wife, and Janis Kelly camps Iris up something terrible.

After a languid start, Laurence Cummings, conducting, brings real Handelian sensibility and drama to the orchestra, and the chorus has a fine time undressing, drinking and indulging in some of Handel’s loveliest music.

The revival is also hampered by the miscasting of Ian Bostridge as Jupiter - a cleanly sung performance, but too anodyne to be engaging. Bardon is fabulous, all fire-breathing coloratura and fury, while Carolyn Sampson's Semele is by turns languidly erotic and petulantly manipulative. Laurence Cummings's conducting and the orchestral playing are both immaculate.

I'm going tonight, mainly for Carolyn Sampson. I shall, of course, blog it.

Getting old-er

Hester Lacey reflects on When I'm 64

In an absolutely invalid statistical sample of one ageing-ish parent, I have an observation to make. My mother was middle-aged when she retired at 63. It took her mere weeks to become aged, despite having an active mind occupied by adult education classes, theatre trips, Saga summer schools etc.

And then in another statistically invalid sample of one ageing aunt, 84, but she's still got her marbles. Age hasn't changed her one iota. Apart from a hip problem/replacement that limited her mobility for a time, she's in rude health, and even ruder phone calls. Much pleasure is taken by myself and others in telling her daughters she'll live to a hundred. And they try - one tried to put her on a flight to Tenerife instead of Ireland, and to put all manner of sharp objects and Class A drugs in her luggage. But, nevertheless, she still arrived in Ireland.

Her eldest daughter rang me and reprimanded me for not being in touch "I was wondering, have I said something? Has my mother said something?"

"Your mother has said something, but that wouldn't be held against you!" I exclaimed. We both giggled muchly...

(Mrs and Master G, are you still here reading...?)

Futurology of the video

Ghosts in the machine

I think reports of the demise of the video are probably premature. I imagine eventually the video will go the way of the vinyl disc and record player. But have you seen all those catalogues that fall out of the Radio Times advertising stylishly retro record players that even play 78s.

I suspect that that is a brief comeback, as people wake up to the fact that they can relatively easily transfer vinyl to CD via their PCs. I can't be bothered, because almost all of my meagre vinyl collection is already on cassette.

Ah, cassette! I guess nobody ever buys pre-recorded cassettes these days - it's probably only garages that sell them. But stereos are generally sold with one, if not two, cassette decks.

I have about 150 cassettes in my collection. A few have been upgraded to CDs by spending money. I daresay in time more will be. Or maybe not.

But the video? I have hundreds of videos. A lot of football ones. Irreplacable. Not watched in years, of course. In the mid-Nineties I bought the Manchester United video 'magazine' every six weeks - news and goals, with lots of star features and interviews (and lots and lots of the very telegenic Lee Sharpe...)

Also in my video collection are my two, and my brother's one, appearances on Fifteen to One. I'm sure everybody has videos of themselves, or family, or friends on TV. The explosion of public participation shows coincided with the era of video.

Apparently the days of the DVD are also numbered. I would be surprised. I know all the companies are putting out opera DVDs, some dating from the 70s, at a rate of knots, and I suspect strongly that all other niche markets are doing likewise. Not to mention mainstream film and TV.

Hard disc storage is all very well, but my Sky+ box only stores 40 hours of TV. Sounds a lot, but that's just three operas, three films, and the transient 'timeshift' TV - okay, we record a lot for later watching because Jimmy goes to bed at eight, but even so...

The video has been around a long time. I personally didn't get one until 1990, but there were rich kids at school who had them in 1983 or 1984.

Energy prices

The DTI is persuading customers to Switch to Save.

I was watching this on BBC News 24. Some dim witted blonde who poses as Financial Correspondent was labelling people who don't switch suppliers - including the newsreader - as stupid.

Faced with statistics that show savings of over 20% for switching, it does seem strange that people don't switch.

However, my perception, one I suspect I share with a great many people is that the initial offers for switching are simply not as attractive as they initially appear. One woman on the voxpop commented that it was unlikely that you save anything in the longterm.

But more importantly is the hassle. I have been very detrred by the aggressive marketing I have encountered on the doorstep. When I have engaged with these sellers, I have encountered nothing but rudeness and non-co-operation. When asking for leaflets or web-addresses to find out more I hav ebeen refused. The option is 'sign up now' or 'sign up now'. I'm sorry, but I don't buy or sell on the doorstep.

There is a wealth of anecdotal evidence of people being bullied into switching - sometimes on the signature of the child of the household.

There is a wealth of anecdotal evidence of people being treated appallingly when they do switch. Of being billed by the old as well as the new company - perhaps because they 'forgot' to tell the old company they were switching, maybe not. Enormous bills from the new companies that do not reflect past or present usage And a host of other problems, which have led people seriously to regret switching.

Perhaps the industry has cleaned up its act recently. I don't know. But even if it has, the impression remains with me, and no doubt with countless others, that the savings involved in switching are not worth the hassle.

It serves as a timely reminder, though, that I am very bad at leaving appliances - computer, CD players - on, or TV on standby, overnight or when I'm out. And Jimmy leaves taps dripping and boils a full kettle for one cup of tea.

In my defence I don't have a tumble drier or dishwasher, and I almost never use the iron.

Racism in football

DWIGHT YORKE was considering his Birmingham future last night after an astonishing rant from owner David Sullivan

If someone made a racist comment about me, three people out of 20-odd thousand, I would not really worry too much. It is not the crime of the century.

But it's unlikely that people will make racist comments at you, isn't it, Sullivan. The BBC News last night more or less echoed my view that it is entirely legitimate for 22,000 Blackburn fans to chant "Blackburn reject" loudly to Dwight Yorke. And I'm sure Dwight knows that.

No footballer - just like no other person - should have to put up with racist taunts whether it's from one person, three, or however many. and i don't think Sullivan has any right publicly criticising Yorke's reaction.

And to think that some newspapers were trying to claim last week that racism is now absent from British football. ..

k d lang

Interview in the Independent

I'm going to see her on Sunday! Ooh!

November 1987 Part 1

Yup, they're back... and between now and Christmas I shall post every couple of days or so - I might even get through to the end of the 1980s and into the 1990s - who knows. I was 19 and in my second year at Uni.

After lunch I worked pretty solidly on my Stats. When I had complete brainache I went into Helen’s room. Edwin came by and suggested we went over to see Dave Be. We did indeed, and we also saw Tony, Marianne and Roland because they’re all living in a Beeston Flat along with Deneze. I was quite impressed, actually, they have it looking really nice.

After tea, I worked some more, and also copied up the minutes of the Anti-Racism meeting to hand in at the General Office. When that was done I went out with Helen. We first went to Cavendish because I wanted some ciggies but they didn’t have any. We then went onto Lenton. Helen had received a phonecall saying that Robert had phoned, but she doesn’t know any Roberts, so she thought it must be Rupert. But Rupert was away for the weekend, so it couldn’t have been him. This left her completely perplexed. However, I went to the bar to see if they had any ciggies, but they had no change.

Well, we were going over to Cripps anyway, so, I eventually managed to get some from there. Then we went to I Block…and James was in! Well, actually he was asleep, but he said he wanted waking. We stayed for two hours, and had a really good time. Well, I had a thoroughly good time, and Helen said she enjoyed herself. At first I felt a little ill at ease, but I soon relaxed

Martin P arrived and after pleasantries he asked me whether I wanted to join the Tory Party. I decided to call his bluff and be a devil. So I was literally plied with stickers, leaflets, but most importantly my NUCA handbook and YC membership card. I had a fascinating time chatting with the pair of them; in fact we found it very hard to get away, but arriving back on ‘C’ floor, I created considerable laughter by producing my YC card.

In the pub

We went for an Indian on Friday night. Local curry house. Top quality food, excellent wine, good service. What more can we want?

Walking past the pub we realised that Black Elvis was performing. Black Elvis, or Gay Black Elvis, as he could term himself, but doesn't, is actually barman and friend to the residents of Gert Cottage. He's actually pretty good. Although he was turned down for Stars in Their Eyes, because he doesn't look like Elvis. Being black.

We arrived at about half ten; he had been on since nine, so I guess we missed most of the well known songs. And I was feeling weak and listless, and looking pale. Jimmy reckons I'm anaemic. My bloodtests say otherwise.

Being pale and interesting, I sat and people watched. One of the great things about my area is the diversity of people who can gather in a backstreet pub on a Friday night. All stereotypes, of course, but what a diversity of stereotypes.

There's Richie, who is Educationally subnormal (or whatever it's called these days). Perfect timing is Richie. Just as Jimmy and I start waltzing around in a quasi-romantic way, Richie comes up "Hello" he says to each of us. "Richie," I say. "We're just in the middle of a slow dance together."

Then there's Mick, Renee's Mick. Also ESN. He's the kind of guy who picks up a local street tart, takes her back to his flat (or rather, Renee's sheltered flat) and wonders in the morning why he's been robbed. During my Audit Sabbatical as bar staff he asked me out. As in "Will you go out with me?" No, I said. He was surprised, because, as everyone knows, barmaids are easy. I'm such a two-faced cow, nice to people's face, total bitch behind their back "I bet Mick has an entire bedroom as an Elvis shrine," I opined. Then I looked round. There were a large number of women of a certain age, and, let's be honest, a certain class. All owners of Elvis shrines, the lot of them. I reckon.

There was a group of four on the next table. Stereotypes. Now, I'm not a totally malicious person. I characterise those four as being the sort of women who do the thankless jobs - cleaning, admin assistant, maybe classroom assistant at a pinch, for rubbish money, keeping the public services running. Probably paying their own rent, not expecting hand-outs, perhaps with a husband (and it will be a husband, no cohabitation for them) in a similar unskilled job. Not aspiring to-right-to-buy. The sort that Golden Brown calls 'hard working families' because 'deserving poor' is too patronising. Dressed in track suit bottoms and polyester polo shirts from QS or the market, not chavcrap. Off-colour home dye-jobs. Faces made hard by life. Poorly-applied foundation and ill-judged blusher. and looking daggers at me. Because I'm as different from them as they are from me.

And the public school boys. They're being cool. They're nice chaps. All about age forty. Not braying hoorays. Solidly middle-class. Went to their local independent school. Play rugby on Saturday afternoons. Fascinated to see that P was smiling. Rare event - thought it only happens when Ireland win at Rugby. Seems to have a girlfriend. Never seen him before with a woman. She's a lot younger than him. Not much over twenty. Probably a student. But probably at a Polytechnic. I'm surprised. Not his style at all.

I point out a woman to Jimmy. I had no need, he'd already seen her. He said he'd never seen a pair of jeans fit so perfectly. Just ordinary jeans but perfect for her. Perfect body. Slender, but with curves. Ordinary stripy t-shirt. But fitting perfectly. Good quality expensive haircut and bleach. Moved with understated elegance. Nothing special to look at in the face, but a definite eyecatcher. And Jimmy pointed out her friend. A bit of a look of Saffy from Ab Fab. Behind the utilitarian pony tail, the sensible glasses, the sensible coat, she was beautiful. I wonder if anybody has ever told her. Maybe she doesn't care.

At quarter to, Last Orders was called. The woman sat opposite moaned - it's not on, calling 'Last Orders' early. I said I don't see the problem. If it means everyone gets served. As long as they don't call Time early. As long as they don't end Drinking Up time early. Not a problem. Give me a problem, I find a solution. 'Can Do' mentality, that's me. Not that I ever 'Do', but you know, I ought to have been a Management Consultant. She says they ought to have an extension, have live music every Friday. There's a pub in Stockwell that has live music every Friday, karaoke every Saturday. It's packed. Eventually she came round to my way of thinking - is it worth sitting through three hours of people who sing like me in order to hear that one person who can give a convincing rendition of 'Eye of the Tiger'. Give me a jukebox anytime. Especially if I can take control of it. (In my pre-teens, my ambition was to be a Radio One D-J. Then Prime Minister).

This woman started talking about her husband, who died last year. He had had Alzheimer’s, and she nursed him for eight years, sometimes when he was violent- it wasn't him, it was the Alzheimer’s. Finally, she had to put him in a home. I'm so two-faced and hypocritical me. Confronted with that, I remember all the tips I learned on audit and recruitment interviewing courses - positive listening, empathetic body language, nods of affirmation, positive strokes. Actually, I think it's really rude to go to a pub on a Friday night and pour out your troubles to total strangers. But I guess she's lonely and miserable.

I suppose what I find frustrating is that there are countless people like her who care for partners and parents, and it's horrible, shitty (sometimes literally), thankless work, physically and emotionally draining. In the end he had to go in a home; she visited him every day, and all day at weekends. She was clearly defensive about that. His relatives criticised her for doing that. Not that they were ever around to do any of the caring. They turned up for the funeral, wanting this and that, but she did it the way he wanted. She paid £2800 for the funeral and is still paying it off. Neither Jimmy nor I said anything at the time. But we both knew what the other was thinking. It's ridiculous.

Mike who worked in the Labour Group office had previously worked in Housing Benefit. If you have some savings it may reduce your entitlement to means tested benefit. If you have more you lose eligibility. It used to be £6000, but it did increase substantially. He found it frustrating seeing elderly people going without in order to save for a 'proper' funeral. Cardboard coffin, on the car roof rack, he reckoned. And cremation. Did you know that a new grave costs £6000? Cremate me, scatter my ashes in the lake at Nottingham.

I took part in a Best Value Review of carers. There are hundreds of thousands of carers. Many of them are elderly and infirm themselves. Many lack social support, formal or informal. Carers are entitled to an assessment of their needs, and an allocated social worker themselves, separate from the caree. Sometimes a bit of respite care, or a few hours at a day centre. Some have more profound needs.

I did an audit review of domicilliary care and read quite a few case files. One sticks in my mind. This elderly woman had been caring for years for her husband, with some assistance from Social Services. Eventually, he was admitted to a home. They had been married for Sixty Years, but she divorced him as soon as went in the home. Years and years of abuse, mental cruelty, misery. But women of that generation - they put responsibility first.

This woman in the pub, now her husband's dead, she's caring for an eighty-three year-old neighbour. He used to be fit and active, but he was dragged along the road by a 137 bus that set off prematurely. Never goes out now, she's even got Power of Attorney to pay his bills. Renee's Mick also got dragged along by a prematurely moving 137 bus. Modern accessible buses have now replaced the Routemasters on the 137 route. Nostalgics like me may mourn the passing of an era. But, practically, it's a no-brainer.

Racism in football

Home is where the hurt is

I didn't blog anything about Wednesday's match, because I just caught the closing minutes on the radio in a cab home, plus I haven't been to a football match in years, plus I haven't been frequenting the smoking room at work, which is the best source of informed opinion on such matters.

I suppose I felt that certain tabloids screaming in outrage at the racist abuse of various England players was utter hypocrisy. Considering the persistent racism of the headlines and lead stories in those papers. Even the casual criticism of the Spanish fans was a form of xenophobia.

As I say, I haven't been to a match since 1996 or so. (Me, Jonah - my boys contrived to lose when I was there, despite actually winning the Double that season. They're even better off without me watching them on TV...)

However, back in the 1983-1996 seasons when I was a regular on the Terraces (and latterly, in seats) I was very aware of racism. I missed the era of the Monkey Chants and the bananas, but I was more than aware of the number of so-called fans who would boo their own black players, and of the hostility towards black fans. I've stood in pubs where Chelsea fans have been singing 'There ain't no black in the Union Jack' - so fucking ignorant they don't even know the name of the flag they wrap themselves in.

It was in my last job (2000-01) that I had a long conversation with my wonderful colleague Neil about just how racist is the commentator Barry Davies. It seems that certain sections of the media has only just woken up, belatedly, to the pernicious evil that is Racism in football. And I suspect they are motivated as much by a desire to portray foreigners - from a city that is a rival to London's 2012 Olympic bid - as all bad so that we the plucky English can come up smelling of roses.

How many black men have captained the England football team? (And as a BTW, how many the England rugby team?)

Tesco mag censorship

It doesn't surprise me that Tesco accused of censorship over lads' mags. I really do not think it is the business of retailers to have control over editorial content of magazines. I can't say that I care for the content, or the covers, of the lads' mags, but I don't think that my taste or distaste is relevant.

Tesco has told publishers that it has received complaints from some shoppers, especially women with young children.

Well, perhaps Tesco should take more care in positioning their magazines so that potentially offensive covers are not placed at child eye level. My local newsagent - as with many independents - carries a range of actual porno mags. They are placed on the top shelf, well above my eye level and discreetly behind specialist magazines on technology etc. I don't find them offensive, although I would baulk at finding them behind the Radio Times or Heat.

I am more concerned that

A satirical magazine was also sent back to its publisher, which agreed to make late changes to its front page.

That's only a small step away from censoring magazines such as the New Statesman, Economist or Spectator for the political line they take. Mind you, I'm not sure that Tesco stock such magazines.

A couple of years ago I was chatting with one of the staff at my local Tesco. What publications they stock is dictated by Head Office. So Tesco in Brixton - Brixton, capital of Black Britain - was not permitted to carry the Voice, or The Gleaner, or any other BME publication, but was being forced tocarry What Yacht Monthly, and Horse and Hound. I dare say they is a market for those in Brixton - we're a very diverse community - but it doesn't take any management nous to know that BME and non-English language publications have a significant market in Brixton.

I have to say, though, that one should use one's local newsagent. There are a lot of things mine doesn't carry - for example, he doesn't stock Hello, because there's no call for it: all the posh people are too cerebral or too left-wing for celeb mags, whereas those that want celeb mags want Heat and, maybe, Okay. On the other hand, he always keeps a Radio Times under the counter for me, and I'm getting my Del Prado Opera DVD fortnightly. And Travelcards, cigarettes, milk, all within metres of my front door. And if I need Hello, or something more esoteric I just nip across the road to another newsagent, who carries a much wider range of magazines than Tesco, or indeed, WH Smith.

Suffering

One in five kids is hit by eczema 'and many suffer prejudice that ruins their lives'

I used to have it a little bit when I was a child. It was strange - for some years it was just on my fore-and middle-finger of my left hand, but gradually spread over my left hand and up my arm. It was really bad in winter, tolerable in summer. I used to apply creams twice a day.

Gradually I 'grew out of it'. At its worst, I would have open weeping sores that were just horrible. Even into my thirties I could have an attack, generally in winter, and generally after 'contact' with detergents. I put 'contact' in quotes because I always wear rubber gloves even for washing up, let alone hand washing clothes or house-cleaning. In the days when I ate meat, I would also have a flare up whenever I had chilli con carne. Even today I have some (out of date) steroid cream somewhere, and I keep a bottle of aloe vera hand cream in my desk drawer 'just in case' I need some partial alleviation from the pain. I never use elastoplast and I can't have my arms waxed.

But I had quite forgotten about it until reading this. There was a girl in my year at Primary School who had it all over her arms and legs and face; sometimes she would wear bandages, presumably to cover weeping sores. Even though I sympathised, I still found her repulsive.

I can't remember what was worse, the pain or the sight of those sores. But I realise I am so lucky that, even at its worst, I only ever had it on half an arm. And I had quite forgotten why I always use rubber gloves.

La Rondine

I spent the evening at the Royal Opera House's performance of Puccini's La Rondine. It has been called the afternoon off of a genius. Not being a big Puccini fan, all I can say 'Thank God he had the occasional afternoon off!' Actually, the music was less then memorable, and it's hardly surprising that thishas been called - incorrectly, IMO - an operetta. But very nice was the music, sounding very Twenties, although its actual first performance was 1917.

I'm going again, with Jimmy and Mummy, a week on Friday, and I am sure they will enjoy it. I shall save a detailed review for then, but I shall say: Angela Gheoghiu was gorgeous in voice and appearance, Jonas Kaufmann doubly so. The costumes were completely marvellous and the sets were to die for in their gorgeousness.

Really nice and pleasant.

Guardian, Independent, Telegraph, Times

Siegfried

English National Opera's really rather good production was viewed by yours truly.

Just to recap, this is Part 2, ie the third opera of ENO's Ring; I have l already done their Rhinegold and Valkyrie; and Das Rheingold at the Proms, and have tickets for Covent Garden's Das Rheingold and Die Walküre (Spring run) and for ENO's Twilight of the Gods. In all, I hope to do five Die Walküres in 2005, even though it's my least favourite of the four. I think. Hey, WTF do I know.

I had read a couple of positive reviews in the papers, but it's always best to see for oneself. It's quite a long evening, starting at five and finishing at ten, but that includes two half hour intervals.

The absolutely best bit of the whole evening for me was the wonderful gorgeous music played very well by the ENO orchestra under Paul Daniel. The very next best thing was Kathleen Broderick's singing of Brunnhilde.  The love duet that makes up Act 3 Scene 3 is one of my most favourite pieces of music, and she was just wonderful.

Richard Berkeley-Steele as Siegfried was, on the whole, very good. It must be an absolute killer role to sing. There is very little time when he is not on the stage and singing, often very long passages. A look of Craig McLachlan (Henry from Neighbours, Grant from Home and Away) did him no harm as the young man who knows no fear. He moved round stage very well. He was particularly excellent in the Forging Scene that closes Act 1, but I have to say he disappointed me in the Love Duet. He wasn't helped, IMO, by having  to sing it in English. It shouldn't be done in English, but in German, in what it was wrote, and as Covent Garden will be doing it. And I guess his voice was tired by this stage. I can't say that there was anything about his voice that made me go 'Oh wow!' but definitely, overall, a good performance.

And perhaps I am being slightly unfair to him in the Love Duet. It's just that the version I have on CD contains perhaps the most sublimely stupendous wonderful note in my entire music collection

Robert Hayward was again disappointing. He had played Wotan in the previous two; The Wanderer is Wotan in disguise. It wasn't that he was bad, but there was no variety of colour in his voice, and a lot of the time he couldn't be heard over the orchestra. When he could, his words were barely distinguishable. As somebody said, if - and big if they're going to put on a proper cycle, they will need to find someone else for that role.

The other major part was Mime played by John Graham-Hall. I thought it was a very sympathetic and poignant portrayal of a character not supposed to be that sympathetic.

ENO set out to make the productions controversial. This was clearly less controversial than Valkyrie had been, but was determinedly modern in its setting. Mime and Siegfried's cave in Act 1 was reminiscent of Steptoe and Son. But it worked. The forging scene was a wonderful display of strobe lights and smoke. The second Act seemed to be set in a corridor-as-waiting-room typical of many hospitals I have visited, but with the rear wall being a flat of painted forest.  I was very impressed by the way they showed Siegfried slaying the giant Fafner - disguised as a dragon, but yet not disguised as a dragon. It was done in silhouette behind a white screen, and the angles of refraction made it look as though Fafner really was a giant in relation to Siegfried.

Some of the most beautiful music comes when Siegfried hears the song of the Woodbird. This was staged by Siegfried blowing bubbles as he lay enchanted. I'm a sucker for bubbles anyway, and as they floated, they went gorgeously with the music. The woodbird was portrayed as a young child in baseball cap and riding a scooter, which was kind of cutey.

When The Wanderer went to seek the advice of Erda, she was based in an elderly residential home. All was grey, except for Erda's green tights. Then Siegfried burst onto the scene and was finally shown where to find Brunnhilde lying on a rock surrounded by fire (remember she was left there at about the time that Siegmund and Sieglinde conceived Siegfried, so she's been there in solitude a very long time...)

Again, I think that was well staged. She lay behind a white screen, a white screen edged with a border that, I assume, represented a circle of fire. He went behind to embrace her, and all that was visible were their silhouettes. As they twisted and embraced, their silhouetted bodies formed a giant phallus on the screen.

The scenery was very minimalist, and I think the Love Duet suffered for this. As I say, the music is completely gorgeous, and Kathleen Broderick's singing was utterly gorgeous. But with little scenery, and a deprecation of 'stand-and-deliver' style of singing, there actions were a little unconvincing.

Every time I hear any of the operas from the Ring, I think, 'that music is completely gorgeous, I would love to have a CD-set of the entire thing without singing'. But I don't think any are available. And I don't have any complete CDs anyway: the only complete versions I have are taped off the radio.

there were people pooh-poohing the contemporary staging, but I like it - as long as it doesn't make a nonsense of the story. And it doesn't. Mind you the guy behind me, a pooh-pooher, declared that he had stoped going to Italian Opera when he discovered Wagner. I wanted to turn round and say "You should get out more, dear..." but I didn't.

During the first interval, I was standing on St Martin's Lane having a cigarette and I noticed Adrian Dwyer leaving the building. I was going to go up and say that i had really enjoyed him in the Ten Tenors Gala at the RFH. then I remembered I hadn't particularly, so I didn't...

Earworm

Why is it, when you obtain a new CD, a double CD, with 34 tracks in total, of which 33 are arias and songs ranging from good to superbly great, and you play that Double CD twice, and another double CD by the same singer with 39 really great tracks, the next day you have going through your head the absolute worstest track of all...? (Perhaps Love)

A fishy tale

A colleague bought a risotto from Tesco. It had their little logo on the front, saying it was suitable for vegetarians. Not that she is a vegetarian. As she was preparing to cook it, she happened to glance at the ingredients and noticed that it contained anchovies and fish stock.

So she wrote a letter to Tesco pointing out that it was incorrectly labelled.

They wrote back saying "Many vegetarians eat fish"...

That's Tesco's definition of a vegetarian: someone who eats fish. they probably think that coeliacs don't mind a bit of gluten. And nut allergics can't handle a bit of peanut.

After her follow-up letter to Tesco she will also be writing to the Vegetarian Society.

No fucking manners

A radio one DJ asks Why are you all so f*****g rude?

Very good question. I often snigger silently at the surly who bark out orders with contempt for those serving. I'm usually pleasant to serving people. Why?

Pure selfishness.

If I smile at a checkout assistant, they often smile back, which lifts my spirits. No, actually, smiling lifts my spirits.

When I establish a relationship with staff who regularly serve me, little favours get returned.

The other day a woman and I were both getting off the bus and inadvertently made a move at the same time, bumping into each other. Our eyes met. Together we both smiled, connected in a conspiracy to acknowledge our mutual clumsiness. We could have challenged each other, blamed each other, felt angry. But we just connected and it was a beautiful moment.

Classical Chillout

I am ambivalent towards this sort of compilation album. On the one hand, compilations serve two useful purposes - one, as a tin-opener, alerting one to stuff that one might not necessarily otherwise have noticed. Also, if one is entertaining, pottering or, er, chilling out, it's sometimes nice to have bleeding chunks rather than an entire work which requires greater mental concentration.

I'm not sure that I am entirely comfortable with the packaging of music as a commodity. Of course, ultimately, all music is a commodity, but this idea of being told what music will suit your mood is a bit...presumptuous. Perhaps I am more likely to chill out to some Monteverdi motets or to some Eric Coates tunes, or Schubert sonatas, but I think these collections are lacking in such things.

What counts as classical is a bit dodgy - William Orbit's immolation of Barber's Adagio for strings, or of Handel's Largo from Serse, or Ruichi Sakamoto's tune which I know as the pop hit 'Forbidden Colours', which I often heard on Timmy Mallett's radio show. Or My Heart Will Go On, which despite thankfully lacking the eminently-shootable Celine Dion and being played by an orchestra is still a sub-pop dirge. And is now being used as the hold music for our IT Helpdesk at work. Eeurgggh. Or the pointless Sarah Brightman singing the pointless Figlio Perduto, which is just a steal from Beethoven's 7th Symphony

There are some tunes that crop up time and again on these easy listening compilations, especially those that have been featured in well known-ish films but the plus point of these particular compilations are the tunes plucked from obscurity eg Reich, Tavener.

My especial favourites are Faure's Cantique de Jean. Indeed I have a theory that so many of these compilations feature some gloriously sublime Faure that he is probably the best loved unknown composer...! Part's Spiegel im Spiegel - I know Part is really raved about, but this is one of the very few pieces of his that I actually own. It's so gorgeous, I ought to get more... Ungar and Mason's Ashokan Farewell - I'm sort of intrigued by this, especially it's Celtic feel and this site explains all! I also like Nagoya Marimbas, by Steve Reich, who is hideously and wrongly under-represented in my record collection. Also, Tavener's Song for Athene.

And then there are the horribilisation of great works - a Going Home by Issy (who?)

I am slightly irritated by the references to pieces being from passingly ephemeral pieces of pap culture - Elgar's Nimrod from the film 'Elizabeth'. But still better than the phrase 'made famous by'.

The Gregorian Chillout is a slightly different animal from the other two albums. A purist would rant and rave about the misappropriation of Gregorian Chant which was designed for devout worship. I have an ambiguous view of Gregorian Chant. There was this ghastly teacher at school who was nuts about it (the Geography teacher who didn't know that Hawaii is one of the United States and swore blind that Pearl Harbor is in the Philippines. Moments after she had told me to take more interest in current affairs as I sat there wearing an against-school-rules CND badge with a copy of New Socialist on my desk; she had previously taught me Maths). Our school chapel, whose acoustics were appalling for the spoken word, was splendid for anything contrapuntal and gorgeous for Gregorian chant, as the notes echoed and re-echoed.

I'm not a purist, so I don't mind the adumbration of Gregorian Chant for dubious 'Chillout' purposes. It does include Gregorian Chant, and stuff like Byrd, Lassus, and Taverner (with an 'r') as well as Mozart, Brahms, Fauré, Bruckner, Elgar and Vaughan Williams. Still one cannot have too many versions of Ave Verum Corpus, quite possibly the best thing that Mozart ever wrote.

Bush joke

George Bush and Dick Cheney are enjoying a celebration lunch at a fancy
Washington restaurant. Their waitress approaches their table to take
their order; she is young and very attractive.

She asks Cheney what he wants, and he replies, "I'll have the
heart-healthy salad."

"Very good, sir," she replies, and turning to Bush she asks, "And what
do you want, Mr. President?"

Bush answers, "How about a quickie?"

Taken aback, the waitress slaps him and says, "I'm shocked and
disappointed in you. I thought you were committed to high principles and
morality. I'm sorry I voted for you." With that, the waitress departed
in a huff.

via non-blogging Ros

The Jam Greatest Hits

I always thought that *everybody* of my generation was well into The Jam. From my cousin, eight years my senior to my brother, seven years my junior.

So it was a bit of a shock back in the summer when I made a passing reference to Paul Weller, to find a stream of invective unleashed in my comment box. And somebody - admittedly somebody trying to get an afternoon's nap - asked me to turn it down when I played it yesterday.

I taped this off my brother. Or rather, he taped it for me, and wrote out the cassette case in impeccable handwriting.

The great thing about a Greatest Hits album is that you get all the best singles on one easy to play cassette. You also get the opportunity to overview the development of the band and see whether they are really great. Or whether they have just produced a few outstanding singles.

One of the things I always liked about The Jam was the fact that they are all so ugly. The counter-pop idols. Punk enough to have credible. Mainstream enough to be safe for nice girls like me.

It's an album that gets better as it goes along. I really don't like the first three tracks, and I get really into it by Eton Rifles. That's Entertainment is a real gem - listen to the words - or read them

My most favourite tracks are Town Called Malice, especially for the lyrics. And beat Surrender. there was something about the way they performed this on TOTP that just grabbed me.

To conclude. The Jam. Good but not great.

Lawless

Your Trevor Eve blogger reporting for duty...!

Still bearded, I'm afraid to say.

I have watched the first programme of this; the second sits on the Sky+ box awaiting attention.

I'm not really quite sure what to make of it. Drama-wise, it is not frightfully good. The plot is convoted and superficial, the characterisations are unconvincing. Much of the acting is second rate.

Still, it has Trevor Eve in it. He's a playing a policeman. Unfortunately, I keep thinking "Boyd wouldn't do that, I can't imagine Boyd behaving like that." Probably a bit of an artistic mistake for Trevor to take this part. But I guess actors, like the rest of us, take whatever's offered and pays sufficiently.

Venice

This programme has been on BBC2 for the past few weeks, on Saturday night, but is now finished. I am surprised that the BBC does not provide a website in support of it. Or perhaps I am not so surprised.

I had ringed it in the Radio Times. Jimmy was not enthusiastic, but joined me in watching it, for want of anything else. And he loved it as much as me. He had thought it was some tourist hard-sell programme.

Instead, it was a history of the city of Venice, focusing, of course, on srt and architecture, but also covering Venice's place in the world, the evolution of society, civil engineering.

The presenter, Francesco da Mosto, was a treasure. PErfect, but accented, English. A Venetian for a thousand years, he cared deeply about his city, yet managed to present in a non-chauvinist way.

I'm sure it will be repeated in due course, and if you didn't see it, I would recommend that you do.

It's that sort of programme that makes me love the BBC

Yasser Arafat RIP

Veteran leader Yasser Arafat dies

I think the obituaries, and in particular, the more considered pieces in the weekend papers will be must-reads, if only to get a potted history of the last three decades of Middle East history.

No doubt the 'Israel-right-or-(never)-wrong' brigade will be whooping it up with their simplistic ignorance of a complex situation.

But these are people who don't find it wrong that Palestinian towns are blitzed and bombarded, who shrug their shoulders at the Sharon Wall, and are happy to see hundreds of thousands of displaced people living in woefully inadequate conditions. And then blame those people for their hatred of Israel.

Angela Gheorghiu

Interview in the Independent

I'm taking Jimmy and my mother to La Rondine. Could be interesting.

Obituary pending

Yasser Arafat will be dead by the time I get home, sober up, switch on the computer etc

Am I becoming morbidly obsessed by celebrity demises?

So bad, it's good

One thing you are guaranteed not to get on madmusings is a literary review. Oh yes, we read books. Heck, we even review books. History, biography, all manner of non-fiction. We do read fiction, but, let's be blunt here, we are not of a literary turn-of-mind.

Oh yes, we have a few Penguin Classics, read, on our shelves, some classics of the twentieth century, too. We believe Wuthering Heights and Cry, The Beloved Country to be the greatest books ever written. But, let's be blunt, we read those in the early 1980s. Our tastes haven't moved on and matured since. We have been known to read Mary Wesley and Joanna Trollope, and not just on beaches.

However, until yesterday we had never read any Jilly Cooper. Yesterday, we had some time to spare on the South Bank before a concert at the Purcell Room, so we drifted into Books Etc, and, having looked through the intellectual books, we bought 'Score' by Jilly Cooper.

I guess it was going to happen: three times this has come up in conversation recentl, including a blog comment from Somewhat, who refers to an evil-but-sexy conductor. So, I had to splurge.

Despite the embarrassment of reading a downmarket trashy novel in a public place with pretentions to intellectuality I simply could not put the book down, except for during the actual concert (Mozart and Handel, review soon-ish). I can certainly see the appeal of the writer - galloping plot, descriptive phrasing, two-and-a-half dimensional characters (always the best - they get far more troublesome if they move into three dimensions). Kind of gripping.

But some of the phraseology is extraordinary. I wonder if readers take these cliches and contrived metaphors at face value, or do they all snigger at the florid prose. When I have finished, I may go through it again and pull out some of the worst examples. At the moment, the one that is sticking in mind is "He was the James Galway of oral sex"

This so doesn't work on so many levels. I mean, if any man (or woman) tried to blow me like a flute, I would find it bizarre, and almost certainly not a turn on. Flautists do odd things with their lips. And James Galway...I mean, I'm sure he's a nice bloke, and what a legend, but, ooh no, stop it make this thought disappear.

I know I am just a humble accountant, and my adding and counting maybe suspect, but I'm trying to work out how the evil-but-sexy one can manage to be so priapic. And I'm guessing wildly, but conducting Don Carlos is probably quite physically exacting.

Without providing a spoiler, we have reached the bit where the Old Bill have made an entrance (phnarr phnarr). No doubt, by the end, we shall know who dunnit.